Of Time and Treason
by CorgiFromSpace
Summary: Death of Merlin: Part 2. For seven years to two most powerful people in all of Albion were separated. One was thought dead; the other was thought his killer. Neither was the truth. NO SLASH. On - Hiatus.
1. Day by Day

**Of Time and Treason**

**Pt One: Day by Day**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the television show _Merlin_. Any publicly recognised characters are entirely not of my creation. I do however, own this story, so hands OFF!

**Summary**: For seven years to two most powerful people in all of Albion were separated. One was thought dead; the other was thought his killer. Neither was the truth.

The seven years between Chapter One and Chapter Two from Of Honour and Magic. If you haven't read it, you need to. I would recommend re-reading t anyway.

_Timeline (So you don't get confused)_

_The Witch's Quickening_

_The Last Dragonlord_

_Of Honour and Magic Chapter One_

_Morgana leaves_

_Of Time and Treason_

_**The Fires of Idirsholas never happened!**_

* * *

_.+._

\O*O*O/  
{_}

_"Time! on whose arbitrary wing  
__The varying hours must flag or fly,  
__Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,  
__But drag or drive us on to die-"_

The pain was incredible and immediate as Merlin woke. For a moment he thought he had failed, and he was still standing atop the funeral pyre, with Uther's guards surrounding him, ready to see him burn. Then, the clear picture of trees against a bright blue sky appeared to his eyes, disorientating the boy even more. He lowered his gaze slowly, running it along the length of a tree until it reached the ground. He followed the ground to where it met his body, and almost yelled in shock.

Bright, burning flames blazed around his leg, withering the skin and slowly charring away the flesh. His foot was almost completely removed and the dry grass around it crackled with the still burning inferno.

Instinct over took him, and Merlin raised his head, throwing out an extinguishing spell faster than his mind could process the words. The heat died instantly and the flames shrank to nothing soon after. But the pain remained, even more intense than before.

To Merlin, it felt like every inch of his leg below the knee had been ripped from his body in messy strips. The bare, raw flesh was exposed to the air, and merely its presence in the open atmosphere exacerbated the sheer intensity of the pain. His toes were gone, the flesh burnt away and the bones tinged with the blood and fat that was left. His foot, ankle and calf were all shrunken from the loss of fat and muscle to the fire. It all shone a bright red from the blood in the afternoon sun.

It had been morning when he was in Camelot, Merlin realised. He had either travelled further than he thought or he had been unconscious for longer than it seemed. Whichever was true, he certainly didn't have the energy to move again that day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Merlin knew that he was at risk of exposing his leg to infection, but it would never be useful again. If he were to lose his leg, it did not matter if it were infected or not.

The sight of the remains of his leg was gruesome, yet Merlin could not tear his eyes away. Without noticing, they turned a brilliant gold and small, deep burns healed over slightly. Now the leg was stronger. With another flash of his eyes, the pain was numbed.

Knowing he had done all he could to save it with his magic, Merlin pulled off his shirt and ripped it into several long strips which he gently tied around the wound. Within moments, they were soaked, but not with blood. A light, clear liquid oozed from the burns and into the thin cotton fabric.

Exhausted, Merlin let his eyes flutter shut and welcomed the bliss of sleep.

* * *

It took Merlin nearly a week to find someone who could treat his leg. He had no idea what kingdom he was in or how far he was from Camelot or whether there would be guards searching for him. But his leg was at risk of becoming worse, and Merlin knew he had to take a chance.

He stumbled upon the town mostly by luck alone. He had tried to employ some of the tracking skills that Arthur had attempted to teach him, but he mostly felt as if he was walking in an ever shrinking circle. It was fortunate that he heard the sound of the market wafting through the trees.

Several people had screamed as he staggered out of the forest, his clothes savagely burnt, his body gaunt and undernourished. Merlin knew, without a doubt, that he looked like death come to life. It was an apt enough description of how he felt, why should he not imitate that in appearance as well?

Eventually, the crowds brought him to the town healer. In his weakened state, Merlin was unsure about the exact process. His mind seemed to be lagging and, though he knew he should, he was unable to make sense of anything. By the time he finally came back to his senses, he was lying on a hard bed, staring up at a thatched roof.

"Eh see your 'wake." A strange, coarse voice said, and Merlin turned to face the speaker. He was a shortish man, going slightly bald on the top of his flat head. A scraggly beard covered his chin, and he wore a thin shirt stretched over a protruding stomach, with heavy trousers. " 'm surprised yeh even made it 'ere."

"Where…" Merlin coughed heavily, his throat dry with dehydration. "Where am I?"

"Yer in Greenw'd." The strange man said, handing over a small goblet filled with water. " 'm Stam, the 'ealer. Nasty leg yeh got there, by the way. How'd it 'appen?"

"Burnt it." Merlin said. "Was meant to burn at the stake."

"What'd you do to deserve _that_?" Stam asked, not unkindly. He had now moved to stand over Merlin's leg and was gently removing the bandages.

"Treason." The warlock said. "Used magic."

Stam paused, a bandage held in one hand as he frowned down at Merlin. "W't ever would that be treason for? Only place it's considered treason for usin' magic 's'in Camelot…"

The healer trailed off. He stared at Merlin unblinkingly, a disbelieving expression stretched across his worn face.

"No!" He whispered. "Yeh were in Camelot? 'at's many weeks of 'ard ridin' away, in some of th' 'arshest terrain in this country! By all the Gods, 'ow did you manage to make it 'ere?"

"Spell." Merlin stated. "Didn't know if it'd work. Used fire instead of wind."

"Well 'at's incredible! Thar's is a reason the spell was meant to be used with air. Th' other elements are far ta unpredictable for ev'n th' most powerful sorcerer to control!" Stam exclaimed. "Thar's a chance with water, but fire? Eh doubt an'one short ov' a Dragonlord could command enough control of fire to use 't'in transport!"

"Got it in one." Merlin muttered. "Besides, it wasn't like I had much of a choice! There wasn't any water anywhere near, and I figure hey, there's a whole bunch of fire here. It wasn't exactly my plan, but I panicked. I didn't want to die, I couldn't!"

"Eh thought the Dragonlords were dead?" Stam said.

"I did as well. I never knew my father, until the day he died. I was more than a little shocked to find that I was suddenly the son of a Dragonlord. It wasn't as if I didn't have enough of a problem what with having to hide my magic from all of Camelot, especially Prince Arthur, to whom I was a manservant."

"Hoo _are _yeh?" The baffled healer asked. "Hoo has s'much power, yet works for th' Crown Prince o' Camelot?"

"Me? I am…." Merlin began. He frowned. He needed a new identity. "I am… I am _Emrys._"

* * *

Arthur awoke to the sound of the doors of his chamber closing quietly behind the servant who had brought up his breakfast. The heavy curtains that covered the windows of his bedchamber remained closed, but several fresh candles burnt in their places around the room.

With a heavy sigh, the prince dragged himself out of his bed and over to the table. He grabbed a soft, lightly buttered roll from one of the plates laid out and took a large bite out of it as he continued on to the window. He pulled back the curtain slightly and then let it fall back into place with a mental huff.

He had not seen Camelot in such a dreary state for many years. The sky was grey with water-filled clouds which occasionally saw fit to drizzle their contents upon the roofs and streets of the city. The heavily worn dirt paths that crisscrossed back and forth amongst the houses had long turned to mud, mud which had then coated everything that touched it. Carts filled with waterlogged straw sat idly, their wheels entrenched so deeply that even the strongest of the knights would have trouble releasing it. It painted a depressing picture for the eye to behold.

Even the residents of Camelot seemed to be missing their usual brightness and spark. Where only a few days before Arthur had seen dresses the colours of a field of wildflowers, now there was only greys and blacks, the occasional brown thrown in. The women did not gather in the streets to gossip, the men did not laugh as they made their way home from the tavern. Children remained indoors, out of the frigid air that swept bitterly through deserted streets.

It was a clear as day to Arthur. Camelot was in mourning.

If he turned his head at just the right angle, he could see from his chambers where many of the villagers gathered. It seemed to be the only speck of colour in the monotonous blur of blacks and whites. There, hundreds of flowers sat around a small stone, the only remaining mark of a boy who had defied everyone's expectations and had suffered for it.

Arthur liked to pretend that it didn't exist.

Merlin had been dead for almost a month, and yet it seemed the town was no nearer to forgetting the boy than they had been that fateful day. They refused to acknowledge the prince out of anything more than duty, and he was beginning to find it hard to cope with all the hostility directed towards him. In his mind, they should have been hostile to Merlin – or at least the memory of Merlin – for lying to them, and committing treason against the crown. Instead, the traitorous _sorcerer_ was fondly remembered as a hero, who died to protect the king. Or rather, died _because_ he protected the king.

Arthur was no fool. He knew what the villagers said about him._ "If he can turn against his own servant - no, his own friend - who are we to the boy?" _The men pondered in their drunken wisdom. "_I'll tell you - nothing! He thinks nothing of us .He would not protect _us_, would not act in _our_ best interests. Forget the Prince - he is nothing but a title. I pity Camelot when Uther dies!"_

Uther himself was also enraged with Arthur. He would not accept the fact that a sorcerer had lived under the castle roof and was seemingly convinced that Arthur had to have known about it. He berated his son daily about not dismissing the servant for 'suspicious behaviour'. He conveniently forgot that he had been the one who first employed Merlin as Arthur's manservant. He was so consumed by his anger and humiliation that he had become blind to everything.

The first few weeks after the execution had been filled with the panic of the villagers as Uther relentlessly ordered searches for more sorcerers in Camelot. Guards swept the town hourly, ransacking rooms that had been searched time after time for even the smallest sign of witchcraft. Uther had even checked half the rooms in the castle on his own. Hundreds were arrested, dozens executed, with little proof.

It sickened Arthur to the core. He had tried to protest, once he had snapped out of his confusion surrounding the revelations of his manservant, but in his blind rage, Uther had promptly thrown him in the dungeons. And Arthur was not the only one close to Uther whom the king hurt in his endless quest against magic.

Gaius had been submitted to questioning dozens of times over the month, and had ended up spending a week in a cell in appalling conditions for the crime of harbouring a sorcerer. Were it anyone else, it would have been a sure way to end up on the executioners block, but Uther was loath to alienate Gaius further, given past events and the usefulness the man had as the Court Physician.

Arthur had wanted to help the old man, but Gaius had not been overly friendly towards the prince since the execution of Merlin. The old man had loved the warlock like a son, and it hurt him to have lost the boy. He wandered around, looking forlorn, and it seemed as if he lived only for his responsibility as Court Physician.

* * *

Merlin waved to Stam as he hobbled away from the healer's house, one hand firmly clutching a walking staff. It was as long as Merlin was tall and made from an old, twisted branch of an oak tree. It was knotted, bent in several places and the top was a mess of woven twigs, but, during the last week in Stam's house, Merlin had placed several strong enchantments on the staff. These enchantments ranged from powerful defensive shield magic to simple spells to return the staff to Merlin's hand if he ever lost it. From what he could tell, any more magic placed upon it would cause the staff to break.

The original wood for the staff had been a gift from Stam a month into Merlin's stay. The two had bonded, and the healer thought that something to focus on would help Merlin ignore the constant pains in his leg. Every day, Merlin had worked on the staff, shaping, polishing and strengthening it with his magic. Now his leg was finally healed enough to carry some of his weight, and Merlin was heading out towards a nearby city, hoping to find maps of the kingdom.

He'd heard rumours from members of the town about a magical forest on the other side of the kingdom where no one ever travelled. In Stam's opinion, it was a horrid place, where no sane person would ever go. To Merlin, it was the perfect place to practice his magic without disturbance. He needed to work on his instinctual magic more – he had become complacent, and was using verbal spells for things he could easily have done without.

Merlin was also hoping he would be able to call Kilgharrah. He knew little about his destiny, very little about his magic and even less about his powers and responsibilities as the last Dragonlord.

So, Merlin stepped out onto the dusty road that lead from Stam's village towards the city, a small smile on his face, a ragged hood pulled over his head, his new staff clutched in one hand and a new identity.

* * *

Arthur hadn't been allowed to attend Merlin's funeral. His father had not wanted him to be seen grieving for a traitor. However, even if his father had allowed him to go, he knew he would not have been welcome.

So he crept out of Camelot in the middle of the night, and made his way to the small marker left for Merlin. It had been erected at Morgana's request, a week before the king's ward left Camelot to join Morgause in the battle against Uther. Arthur knew that she still had contact with people inside the city, but she refused, as did many, to talk to him at all.

Beautiful flowers surrounded Merlin's stone. Arthur recognised lavenders, like those that Gwen had once displayed in Morgana's chambers, among the most common of the flowers. It hurt Arthur to think of the pain that Merlin's death had caused the handmaiden, but he could do little to fix it now.

It had been nearly three months since Merlin had been killed, and in that time Arthur had come to see reason. He saw clearly just what his father had done in his anger, and Arthur himself realised how foolish he had once been.

He was standing here, at Merlin's memorial, because he missed his friend. He knew, without a doubt, that Merlin had always been loyal, and kind, and _good_. It was Arthur that had committed a betrayal, who had been wrong, all along.

"I wish you were here, Merlin," He whispered to the small stone. "I know little of magic, so I don't know if somehow you are able to hear me, but I hope that you can. I'm not very good with all this… emotional stuff, but I'll try. It's important to me that you know.

"I hope you know how much I miss you, how much I regret the way I acted. I sent you away, _I sent you to your death, _when all along you had been a loyal friend. I was stupid, an idiot, and all the things I called you, but you never were.

"I was so angry, Merlin! I thought you didn't trust me. I thought you must have been planning something, because the Merlin I knew would never have kept that from me. Suddenly, in the space of a few minutes, everything I knew about you was turned upside down. The person I would call my dearest friend was a stranger to me.

"You should have fought, you should have escaped! You could have, in an instant. You would have disappeared, had to leave everything behind, but you would have lived. Why didn't you? Why didn't you knock me unconscious the moment I stepped into your cell on that last day? Because you are too loyal for your own good, and you never would have hurt me.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I am so sorry. I don't deserve your forgiveness, from where ever you are now, and I have nothing to forgive you for. But now that I see clearly how stupid I to act on my feelings of betrayal, I promise you, that you are still loved here. Everyone in Camelot misses you.

"So if there's a chance, some magical spell or something which you can use to come back, I swear to you that you'd be welcomed back with open arms! Please, Merlin. Please."

Arthur dropped his head into his hands and heaved himself to his feet. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, brushing away the unshed tears. He had said all there was to say, and he only wished his manservant was there to offer some witty comment in return.

* * *

Merlin cursed as he ran blindly through the forest, to desperate to escape to look behind him and see how far behind him his pursuer was. His leg ached under the pressure, and he was channelling a portion of his magic into it, to fortify it and reduce the pain. He couldn't risk it giving out on him, not when he was fleeing for his life.

Unfortunately for Merlin, his escape from Camelot had done nothing to improve his coordination, and he found himself lying face down on the leaf-litter that covered the ground of the forest. He desperately rolled onto his back and scramble backwards as fast as he could. He felt himself being pressed up against a hard tree, and he grabbed onto the bark and pulled himself to his feet, using his staff as extra support.

But he was too late.

The griffon looked down at him, its small, birdlike eyes following along the line of its beak to Merlin's face. The bird-beast titled its massive head to one side, curiously eyeing the petrified human in front of him.

With a shrill cry, the massive beast lifted itself up on its hind legs, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut in terror. He wished he had something around him that he could use as a weapon in his defence, but there was nothing.

When he found himself still in one piece a few minutes later, he opened his eyes slowly, and took in the sight of the griffon.

Its head was bowed, and it was looking remarkably like a chastised child, forlorn and apologetic. Cautiously, Merlin lifted his hand, and lowered it to the downy feathers spread across the back of the griffon's head. It let out a sound that reminded Merlin of the cat that Camelot's cook owned when you scratched it behind the neck.

Merlin stayed in that position for a long time, with his hand gently stroking the bird-beasts head. It seemed content to stay like that, and not eat him, so he kept it up.

As the sun set, however, the griffon pulled away, and charged back off through the forest. Merlin watched it go, before a stray beam of sunlight reflected off something at his feet. He bent, and picked up the object. It was a beautiful, golden feather, the same shape and size as those from the griffon. Confused, Merlin admired the beauty of the feather, and felt his magic react to the magic stored inside it.

Without conscious thought, Merlin lifted the feather to the top of his staff, just below the twiggy tangle at the top. He wrapped it around the wood, and ran a hand over it. Beneath his hand, it glowed, and melded into the wood. Merlin could feel the feathers magic merging with that already in the staff, and he let more trickle into it.

It was like making a copy of the magic – not matter how much he poured into it, there never seemed to be any missing from his body. Merlin's mind raced with the possibilities. If he were ever to be missing his magic, the supply in the staff would be enough to cast a spell in a life threatening situation. Knowing what he did about his Destiny, he was glad for the chance to protect a small amount of magic for later.

* * *

Arthur looked up the sky, watching the stars sparkle and shine. They seem in such a contrast with the city below. Where the stars shone with glory and peace, Camelot was like a pit of despair and sadness.

One star caught Arthur's eye. It shone brighter than the others, a bright golden colour, and it glowed steadily. While he looked upon it, Arthur felt a wave of happiness, pride, comfort and laughter wash over him. A tear sprung to his eye, despite the positivity of the emotions sinking through him. They were all what he felt with Merlin around, and without the boy it seemed strange to be feeling them.

But, on top of that, a feeling of hope bled into his heart, and it remained when Arthur turned away. He felt, for the first time since he realised what he had done, that things could still be alright.

* * *

Merlin smiled slightly as he splashed a hand through the water in the stream below him. He had spent his night looking over Camelot, observing all the changes, and noting any threats that were likely to damage Arthur or the city. Because, although he was considered a traitor to the city and although Arthur apparently hated him, he was still destined to build a better Kingdom.

It was all he could do to protect the city from afar. He had cast a spell more complex than anything he had ever attempted before, after weeks of research into the matter, around the city. It was a shielding spell, which would prevent any creatures born of magic from entering the city. It would also stop any magic users meaning harm to the city or its people from drawing near enough to do damage, as well as any powerful enough to fool the shield into believing that their intentions were pure.

It meant that he could never return to Camelot, and while the thought hurt him, he was wise enough to know that he wasn't welcome there anyway.

'At least now I am free to use my magic the way it was always intended.' He thought. 'At least now, I can put it to good use.'

But before he could do anything, Merlin knew there was a lot left for him to learn. So, he raised his head to the sky, tipped back his head and felt the old language bubble up in his throat, and he left it out in an echoing yell, calling his dragon to him.

The burden of his destiny was a heavy weight on his shoulders.

_"Hail thou! who on my birth bestowed  
__Those boons to all that know thee known;  
__Yet better I sustain thy load,  
__For now I bear the weight alone."_

_.+._

\O*O*O/  
{_}

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I hope that was worth the ridiculous wait. My time was taken up with NaNoWriMo and exams in November (I failed NaNo spectacularly, btw), then my whole family ordered new computers, and I was waiting to get mine before I finished this (cause I wanted this to be the first fic written on it – oh well). They were meant to be here by Christmas at the latest, and now it's New Years and still no computer!

Anyway, I can promise that the next chapter shouldn't take as long, because I have a lot more of that planned out already. I'm sorry if this chapter is absolute garbage, I spent two days writing virtually nonstop on the last half.

Review?


	2. Year by Year 1

**Of Time and Treason**

**Pt Two: Year by Year (1)**

**A/N: **A huge thank you to everybody who has reviewed. I did want to get this out earlier, but I was distracted.

You see, in her review, **floss bucket** kindly mentioned something that intrigued me. It involves a show named Torchwood. Heard of it? It's brilliant. Of course, it wasn't the mention of Torchwood that distracted me, for that alone wouldn't be enough to convince me to use up a considerable amount of internet downloads to watch all three series. No, it took only two words to make me watch it all, and then spend a day bursting into tears randomly (if you've seen it, you'd know why) when I had finished.

Those two words? _Canon slash._

So thank you, **floss bucket**, without you, I would never have been swept into the show that is Torchwood. Distraction from writing aside, I loved it.

Now, on with the story! I've split this into two parts, because it was really, really, long. The rest will be up soon. And yeah, it might almost remind you of Dragonheart in places, but I didn't mean for it too, no matter how much I love that movie.

* * *

_.+._

\O*O*O/  
{_}

I would not one fond heart should share

The bitter moments thou hast given;

And pardon thee-since thou couldst spare

All that I loved, to peace or Heaven.

Camelot was in chaos. The villagers huddled together, casting fearful looks towards the castle every few moments, whispering hurriedly and quietly about the rumours that had reached their ears. Some smiled, in private, others mourned. Mostly they schooled their faces into blank expressions, for any knight or guard who caught them in their secrets would certainly have them arrested for treason.

Yet the news spread far beyond the castle walls, out into the villages and even into the wilds of the kingdom, where the forests were thick, the mountains were rugged and unpassable and only the druids would seek shelter and a home. Travellers brought the most recent updates out to the countryside, and traders shared the gossip from the taverns with all that would listen. Messages carried letters back and forth across the land, letters from mothers to daughters, from fathers to sons, from lovers to lovers and from nobles to nobles. Every story told, every letter read, all told the same thing.

The King is dying.

* * *

Merlin smiled as the wind rushed through his hair. It had been too long since he could remember travelling in a different way, and he would never go back, for any reason. The sky stretched on forever all around him, and the steady beating of Kilgharrah's wings kept a steady rhythm as he timed their flight.

Far below them, the forest was fading into fields and farms, the little farmhouse barely more than tiny pebbles on the landscape. Ahead, Merlin knew, was a small village, and that was where he and his dragon were heading.

A disease had broken out in another village a few weeks ago, one that spread through the crops instead of the people. All the crops had become infected and many of the villagers had become sick. Fearing that many would die, the village leader had contacted Merlin, and the warlock had happily flown to the village and raised the disease from the crops, leaving instructions with the healers of how to prepare a simple cure.

Removing the disease was a basic, if time consuming process. First, Merlin had transferred the disease from every grain of wheat, every ear of corn, and from all the other crops that were grown into a large rock. Then, he placed the rock in an empty field, and called down lightning to destroy it, purging the disease from it at the same time.

It was something that Merlin had learnt to do in the last two years of training by Kilgharrah. He had learnt much from the dragon, and most of it was spell crafting. He was now able to create spells on the spot, if his instinctual, willed magic couldn't fix a problem.

In that time, Merlin had also built himself a new identity as Lord Emrys, titled so for his status as a Dragonlord, and had brought trust in magic back into villages all over Albion. He kept himself hidden beneath a bulky cloak and his hood was always drawn over his face, leaving it shadowed. As an extra precaution, he cast spells to mask his appearance as well.

Merlin obeyed no borders, and, given his mode of transport, could travel from one kingdom to another in barely any time. The only kingdom Merlin didn't dare step foot in was Camelot, even with his new identity.

The village they were travelling to now was closer to the kingdom of Camelot than Merlin had been happy with. It was barely on the Mercia side of the border, and Merlin was nervous that he would be unable to leave if he somehow had to cross that border.

He had been unable to refuse the call for help though. The disease of the crops had spread to many villages over the weeks and Merlin couldn't abandon one village and then help another. It seemed as though this would be the last one the disease spread to, however, and both Merlin and Kilgharrah were pleased to be rid of it.

'_Young Lord,'_ Kilgharrah mentally called to Merlin, _'Look.'_

Merlin did as instructed, and the breath left his chest as he gazed upon the scene they approached.

Smoke billowed into the air, spreading upwards and outwards with the subtle wind. Below, the village Merlin had come to help was surrounded by a wall of blazing fire, which was threatening to leap onto the buildings and destroy them all.

Merlin's keen ears picked up the sound of screams as he and Kilgharrah drew nearer. The villagers were all still trapped inside the town, and Merlin's heart nearly gave as he remembered the pain he had felt at being consumed by flames. His gaze was drawn to the scarred and warped flesh below his knee, and he forced his eyes away.

'_Lower,' _he instructed. _'Circle the town, as close to the flames as you can get.'_

Kilgharrah did so, and Merlin released his hold on the dragon's scaly neck. He sat straighter in the saddle he had created and drew his arms up to either side of him.

The villagers were screaming once more, this time at the sight of a massive dragon circling the town, but Merlin ignored them. His eyes burnt gold as he willed the fire to fade and as Kilgharrah swept lower, they obeyed his command. The smoke was sucked back to the ground and the wall of flames retreated from the village. Within moments the only remaining sign of the inferno was the scorched earth.

Kilgharrah let out a triumphant roar, as he often did, and soared back into the sky before twisting and diving towards the ground once more. As the wind rushed by his head, Merlin was forced to hold onto the dragon's neck once more.

In a spectacular feat of flashing wings and arching legs, Kilgharrah landed, and Merlin nimbly leaped from his back into the midst of the village's main square. Around him stood stunned villagers, who looked torn between fear of the dragon and gratitude for Merlin.

Gratitude won out, and they rushed forwards to offer him their thanks. Children clambered around underfoot to grab some part of his clothes, and Merlin carefully repositioned his hood, so none could see his face. This close to Camelot, he didn't want to risk it.

"What happened here?" He asked, slipping easily into his role as Lord Emrys, both a hero and a leader, someone who commanded respect.

"King Bayard sent soldiers, sir," One of the men said, hesitantly. They had never met Lord Emrys before, and although his reputation preceded him, how to actually address him was never discussed.

"Please, call me Emrys," the warlock replied, sensing the man's uncertainty. "Why were soldiers sent here?"

"You know of the disease, Emrys, do you not?" Another man replied. "They were sent here to destroy it."

"We tried to tell them that you were coming," A woman, this time, "We'd heard that Lord Emrys was saving villages like ours from the disease and we knew you would come here. But they didn't believe us."

"Why would Bayard send men to destroy the disease now, rather than earlier?" Emrys asked. "Why not when the first village suffered or the second?"

"He didn't act of his own accord," The first man answered. "King Uther of Camelot sent messengers to him telling him that if the disease travelled into his kingdom, he would end their treaty. King Bayard sent his men here and they lit the fields on fire. We had no way to escape, it spread so quickly."

"You are fortunate I arrived on time. I would not wish such a disaster upon anyone." Emrys stated. "The disease is gone now, though, and the fields will grow new crops faster than ever before now."

The warlock waved a hand around him, and the villagers looked out to the fields and saw that already green sprouts were pushing through the soil towards the sky.

"Thank you, Emrys," Another woman called, tears streaming down her face. "You are our saviour, a light in these darkened times!"

Similar cheers rang out from the crowd, but Emrys held his hand up to silence them.

"Magic is magic," He began. "I was gifted this magic so I could help to bring all of Albion into a brighter world. I will do whatever I can to help anyone until the day comes when we can all live in peace. You needn't thank me for something that I am glad to do."

With that said, Emrys pushed himself off the ground with his magic and floated onto Kilgharrah's back once more. He positioned himself in his saddle and clicked his fingers once. A pillar of crystal grew up from the ground in the centre of the square, and pulsed with a golden light.

"If you are ever in need of my help again, place a hand on the crystal and call to me. I will hear and come to your aid." He declared, and Kilgharrah reared up, his wings unfolding. With a flash of his golden eyes, Emrys was gone from the village, and the villagers were left in awe of the stranger whom they could never forget.

* * *

Arthur sat hunched by his father's bedside. The king had fallen back into a fitful slumber long before, however, Arthur refused to leave his side as Gaius checked his condition.

Uther had been falling into a worse state day by day for the last several months, and in that time, Arthur was forced to be by his side every waking moment, in order to learn all he needed about taking control of the kingdom. As Uther grew frailer, the lessons increased, and it was all Arthur could do to not break under the pressure of his new duties.

He was far from ready to take the throne.

"How is he, Gaius?" the prince asked, as the physician finished he check up. Gaius did not respond for a number of seconds, then sighed, and turned to Arthur with a weary look in his eyes.

"He is worse, my Lord. The fever has spread, and I fear that soon an infection will spread to his lungs." The old man replied.

"Can you do anything to help?" Arthur asked, standing and moving to a small basin of water, where he dampened a cloth.

"My Lord, I regret to inform you there is nothing more I can do. The King is dying." Gaius said, and Arthur sat with a thud back on the chair by his father's bedside. He gently placed the damp cloth on the king's brow, and turned back to the other man.

"Surely there is something! I have seen you pull a miracle cure from nowhere in the past!" He protested.

Gaius stiffened.

"Those cures were mostly the result of M- of magic, sire," the physician replied, tersely. Arthur winced, knowing the name that should have been said. "I fear that your only hope for the king is magic, also. But I cannot help you."

With his part said, Gaius turned and left the room, quietly closing the doors behind him.

"Cannot? Or will not?" The prince whispered after him, then sighed. "Does it even matter?"

Never the less, it was magic that he needed. Arthur's head fell into his hands as he leant on the side of the bed. _But I have no magic_, he thought. _I have no magic because I killed Merlin.

* * *

_

"I have called you all here because you are the most trustworthy of my knights," Arthur addressed the long table, where a dozen of his knights sat decked out in full Pendragon armour. "At this table we are all equals. In the coming months and years, your advice will be invaluable to me, especially if the worst was befall Camelot and my Father passes before his time."

The knights all bowed their heads as a silent prayer for their king before Arthur continued with his speech.

"You shall be the justice bringers to the chaos of this kingdom. The leaders of the new order. You will answer only to the king and me. Primarily, your duty will be to defend Camelot, the people of Camelot, from outside threat. By any means necessary. Now, rise."

The knight's rose, and one by one they pledged fealty to Arthur and to Camelot. By the time they were finished, the sun was setting, bathing the city in a golden glow, as if to welcome in a prosperous new age.

* * *

"Hello again Merlin," Arthur whispered as he sat down beside Merlin's small memorial. The flowers had long since died, but a few small bouquets had been brought by in recently. "I see Gwen has been around again, and she brought you more flowers. She certainly seems to like you. Was there ever something between you? There's nothing between us anymore, not since you were here. She probably hates me. I can understand why.

"Father's still sick. I wonder if, were you here, you'd be able to do something. Gaius says that magic is his only option, but it isn't an option for me. Even if I did suddenly find a sorcerer who is willing to cure the very same king who persecutes them, my father would never agree to it.

"I wish he wasn't so stubborn. Gaius said he had been sickening for months before he said anything. By the time that Gaius knew, it was too late for Father to be healed. Now he's certain to die, and I'll have to take the throne well before I'm ready."

Arthur fell silent, turning his head to the sky, watching the stars that shone above him. Each of them twinkled on merrily, league upon league above the problems of Camelot. Some days, Arthur thought that the stars were laughing at him, as he desperately tried to cope with his new duties.

_"No matter what happens, I will always be watching out for you, watching out for Camelot. Remember that in years to come." _

Merlin's words echoed in Arthur's head, although his voice was distorted and different after two years of not hearing it. Once more, Arthur wondered whether the warlock had found a way to defy death, and keep watching, like he had promised to.

"When my father is dead, I will bring back magic." He promised the small marker. "You deserve that much, and so much more. I know it is to late for you to live in freedom, but in your memory, your fellows will thrive."

Arthur stood, and brushed a hand against the wooden star. It wasn't enough.

* * *

Gaius awoke to the light from the sun shining in through the small slits in the window covers, it's golden beams falling in a thin line across the messy workroom to rest against the closed door of an empty room.

The room had been empty for two years, and not a single soul had entered it in that time. It remained untouched, bed sheets rumpled, clothes strewn around the room. Sometimes, on windy nights, Gaius could hear the sound of the shutters slamming against the stones of the tower, as they had never been secured. The wind stirred the dust in the empty room, and the musty smell of stale air would slowly seep through the cracks under the door and out into the main room, where it diffused in the air tempered by the smoke of Gaius's burners and flasks.

But not that morning. Something had been changed. A small roll of parchment lay neatly rolled on the ground at the top of the stairs.

His back protesting, Gaius stood and hobbled over the small note. He unrolled it, and his eyes went wide in shock.

_Gaius,_

_He should be remembered._

_The stoneworkers will contact you about an engraving. Choose something that suits him._

_He deserves more than he was given.

* * *

_

Arthur was sitting by his father's beside once again. Uther had falling into a fitful sleep before they had completed their conversation, and Arthur was both angry and worried at the same time. So, when Sir Leon entered the room, he was glad for excuse to leave.

He gestured to Leon to follow him, and they left to Arthur's chambers. Once inside, Arthur poured himself a goblet of strong wine, and nodded for Leon to speak.

"My Lord, I have heard word from the outlying villages about a strange man – a sorcerer – in Mercia and other surrounding kingdoms." Leon reported. Arthur turned his head towards the man.

"Why are you informing me?" Arthur asked. "Has he entered this kingdom? We cannot enforce the law outside of Camelot."

"I understand that, my Lord," the knight replied. "And it is true, he has not entered the kingdom. However, and forgive me my forwardness, sire, the word around the castle is that the King cannot be saved without the use of powerful magic."

"Who is he, then?" The prince asked, not surprised that the secret had gotten out. "And can he save my father? Would he be willing to?"

"I do not know if he is friend or not, sire, but the tales surrounding him are almost unbelievable."

"What tales?"

"Well sire, they say he cured a flock of dying sheep from incurable disease. I've heard it said that he could build a village from nothing. It appears the only thing he cannot do is raise the dead."

Arthur hid the dropping of his heart at the last sentence. _He is happy now. He will find a way back if he wants to return._

"Do we have a way of contacting him?" Arthur asked, because surely a man of such power was worth speaking to, even if he wouldn't heal the king.

"Sire, do you remember the reports of the disease that spread through Mercia? It killed dozens of crop fields."

"Yes, I remember. My father contacted Bayard and demanded that it was stopped before reaching the city. I heard that a village on near our border was burnt to the ground to stop the spread."

"Indeed, my Lord. But the village didn't burn."

"You suggest that this sorcerer prevented the spread of the fire? Is it possible he is behind the spread of the plague, and wishes it to reach Camelot?"

"I do not believe so, sire." Leon replied. He shifted slightly. "The sorcerer not only stopped the fire, he also killed the disease, which had survived. He brought the crops back to life, and then left."

"How does that help us contact him?" Arthur asked, impatiently.

"Before he left, he grew a crystal column in the centre of the town. He told the villages to use it to call to him if they ever required his help."

"Alright. Summon half a dozen of the best knights, have them in the courtyard before the sun rises much higher. If we leave now, we can reach the border of Mercia by morning." Arthur instructed. Leon bowed, and turned to leave. "Oh, and Leon?"

"Yes, sire?" He asked from the doorway.

"You did not answer my first question," Arthur called to the knight. "Who is he?"

"They say his name is _Emrys_, sire." Leon stated. "And all those tales are nothing – it is said that Emrys travels on the back of a Dragon."

* * *

The sun was peeking out from behind the clouds at the small procession of knights who surrounded the crystal column. It glinted off the surface of the pillar, and flashed in beautiful colours. It was a mesmerising sight, and it intimidated the knight. Its beauty was such that they were questioning how something evil could create it. But was magic if it wasn't evil?

The townspeople were frightened by the knights, as they the right to be. Only a month earlier, they had been invaded by knights acting on the orders of the King of Camelot (a man that the new knights served), and in that invasion, they had almost lost everything, If it weren't for Lord Emrys, they would all be dead.

Now, these knights of Camelot, lead by their prince, had come to contact Emrys. Everyone in the village knew what the punishment for magic was in Camelot. If Emrys came to the village, these knights would kill him. Without hesitation.

"We won't do this!" One of the village men yelled at Arthur, striding towards the prince, and placing himself in front of the pillar. "If we call Lord Emrys here, you will kill him!"

"I assure you, we won't. I am here to ask for Emrys help, not to hurt him in any way," Arthur replied.

"_Lord_ Emrys could defeat these knights anyway, with little more than a wave of his hand," One of the women states, marching up to the protesting man. "Garrett, forget about it. If they try to harm him, Lord Emrys will protect himself. It'll do these Camelot knights good to get what's coming to them! They'll learn their lesson soon enough."

Garrett protested a little longer, before the woman pulled him away.

"So will you call him then?" Arthur asked.

"What?" The woman said when she realised he was talking to her. "You want me to call him? You to high and mighty to do it yourself?"

Arthur almost smiled. The people here were so full of life, so cut off from the airs and graces of the courts. It was refreshing.

"Unfortunately, I cannot," was his reply. "It is possible that Emrys will somehow know it is me."

"So you admit that you're tricking _Lord _Emrys?" Garrett yelled, before he was silenced again.

"I need him here to ask for his help. I do not wish to risk him not coming because he knows I'm here," The prince sighed. "Please. Call him. He is the only hope I have of saving my father."

The woman stared at him for a moment, but something in his voice, or his eyes, or the way he looked so defeated had touched her heart. She nodded, and moved towards the pillar. Nervously, she bit chewed on her bottom lip, and then raised her hands to the cool crystal. _Emrys can look after himself._

"Lord Emrys," She whispered. "Please, come. Please."

Nothing happened for several heartbeats, and then a low hum filled the air. Arthur unconsciously took a step towards the pillar, the source of the thrumming vibrations that rippled through his skin. Something about it, something about the _magic_, seemed familiar. Unknowingly, he raised a hand to the pillar, but before he touched it, the humming ended. The pillar lit up with a brilliant golden light, and Arthur choked back a gasp.

The gold was the same as what he had seen in Merlin's eyes when he lit the pyre.

The gold light flickered, and then collapsed into itself, into the very core of the crystal. With a shattering boom, it shot from the pointed tip, a brilliant beam of gold lighting up the heavens. Without a doubt, Arthur knew it would be seen for leagues in every direction.

He just hoped that Emrys could see it too.

* * *

The small clearing was filled with the sounds of magic as it sparked and flashed around the two travellers. Merlin, with minor coaching from Kilgharrah, was going through his morning exercises. Lightning, fire, wind and water were circling around him, and pillars of earth shot out of the ground at random intervals. Merlin would then send bolts of various magical elements at the pillars, completely obliterating them.

'_You are working yourself too hard, young Merlin,' _Kilgharrah called into Merlin's mind, to gain his attention. The warlock dissolved the streams of magic surrounding him, and the clearing fell back into peace.

"I am working no harder today than I did yesterday, or the day before that," He replied.

"My point exactly," The dragon replied verbally. "You are going to strain yourself."

"Look, please, don't do the worrying thing. It doesn't suit you," Merlin began. "Secondly, if I don't get used to straining myself, then I won't be able to cope in the situation where I have no choice but to strain myself. You know how much magic I am pouring into the shields around Camelot, and the magic to keep connected to the crystal pillars in the villages. If, by some chance, I am put in a position where I need more magic than usual, I do not want to have to take from there."

"You have a staff, enforced with a Griffon's feather, Merlin." Kilgharrah snapped. "You will never run out of magic, not when you pour extra into that staff daily."

"I need-" Merlin was cut off by a crack, almost like that of thunder. Instantly, Merlin's eyes snapped to the skies, flashing gold. "The village we last went to – on the border of Camelot. They call us."

"It is possibly a trap, young Lord," Kilgharrah replied, even as he was stretching out his wings, and offering his back as a perch for his lord. "We must be careful."

"I know, but we cannot risk that it isn't a trap, cannot leave them in possible danger," Merlin pulled his hood over his face, and he ran a hand over his face, applying his masking magic. "Come, Kilgharrah, there is time for conversation later."

The Dragonlord held is staff in one hand, and levitated himself off the ground and onto Kilgharrah's back. The mighty dragon lifted his head towards the sky, and launched himself off the ground.

* * *

"You should wait inside, Prince Arthur," the village woman said, after an hour of standing around the pillar, staring up at the sky. "It may be that Lord Emrys will see you, and not want to come."

"No, it is better that he sees me," Arthur replied. "Otherwise, it could be interpreted that I was luring him into some kind of trap, and I would like to avoid that as long as possible."

"At least send your knights in then," she said. "They are scaring the children, and, if I am frank, they aren't particularly doing anything to make me more comfortable."

Arthur said nothing, but gestured to his knights to spread out across the small buildings that surrounded the square. They would be out of sight, hopefully out of mind, and still be close enough to do their jobs in the case of something going wrong.

It was hot, standing in the sun wearing heavy chainmail and armour, not to mention the heavy cape that was secured around his neck. The hours had dragged on, and Arthur was wondering how powerful Emrys could be, if he wasn't capable of making it to a small village in a shorter amount of time.

However, if the rumours were to be believed, then Emrys had travelled all across Albion, and, while it grated at his nerves, Arthur admitted that even riding a dragon, it could take days to cross the land.

It didn't take days, luckily. Only moments after Arthur sent his knights inside, the villagers began getting excited, and were pointing at a speck on the far horizon. In barely any time at all, the speck grew larger and larger, until it was clear to see that it was no mere bird, but it was in fact the legendary dragon.

It circled the village, and Arthur could make out a small, cloaked figure standing on it's back. As the dragon slowed, the figure gently dropped off it's back, and onto the ground, right beside the golden pillar, pulling back his hood.

He was taller than Arthur had expected, and thinner. He also appeared to be young, even younger than Arthur. His eyes were gold, but they quickly faded to a brilliant blue. His skin was like porcelain, and his hair was dark, falling halfway down his back in wiry curls. It gave him a menacing appearance.

If it weren't for the fact that his facial features were soft, and almost alarmingly perfect, Arthur would have sworn that he was Merlin. As it was, he was almost convinced that they could be cousins.

As the sorcerer's eyes met his, the ethereal face twisted into a sneer, and all Arthur's thoughts that he could be Merlin vanished, because Merlin wasn't able to hate someone as much as this Emrys seemed to hate the prince.

"_Arthur Pendragon!" _Emrys snarled, his eyes flashing with anger, his hand flung out in front of him. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand!"

**

* * *

Dun dun duuunnn!**

**For Merlin's appearance as Emrys, think dreadlocks. We're talking almost crazy, living in caves sort of thing. But with the face of a cherub. Because I think that would be cool. Also, he is a lot more bitter as Emrys, and that will come out in the next chapter. **

**Please tell me if there are any major plot holes/mistakes in this. School and homework means that I can't quite get around to going over it with a fine tooth comb.**

**:P**


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